The Rules of Courtly Love
by Caidyn
Summary: A series of drabbles influenced by twelfth century rules of secret love in the king's court. AU Renaissance. Hints of Sherlock/Irene and John/Mary.
1. Chapter 1

**Note:  
**  
I do not own anything in this except this being my own idea. Not even the characters which I keep time traveling to ask Arthur Conan Doyle to given them to me, as well as try and get Moffat to give me the plots to all the episodes so I can make them first.

This whole idea of these drabbles is inspired by one of my favorite teachers that teaches about the Renaissance and the art, literature, court life, etc. to do with it. She handed out this packet over courtly love and chivalry so I, of course, found an inspiration from it. If you're interested in seeing the list yourself search for The Rules of Courtly Love by Andreas Capellanus. Twelfth century literature. And I am going from my interpretations from the rules, so they might not always be spot on with what they actually mean. Despite their translation into modern English it still can be tricky to get but I am doing my best at it. And without further ado I will shut up and get onto the first one.

* * *

_Rule One: Marriage is no real reason for not loving._

Both were married to two beautiful women, Sherlock to Irene and John to Mary. And both adored their wives in every way a good husband should. Gifts were lavished on the women who accepted them with grateful smiles and flushes of pleasure on their cheeks; neither men were very rich in their jobs, but knew how to give gifts that would be cherished. It was their way of making up for the "sin" they were doing behind their women's backs.

In the dark of the night the two men would meet in the courtyard of the castle where only moonlight graced the leaves and petals of the fragrant flowers. It was near the moon flowers that they met, to represent their secret love for the other.

And when John showed up that night, Sherlock was waiting in the quiet way that made him seem more erethral than he did everyday of the week. Sherlock turned his head at the footsteps, hands coming unclasped from behind his back when he saw that it was who he had hoped it to be. The two just looked at each other before the pale violinist took the needed step forward to press his large and warm hand to the other's cheek.

"I love you," he whispered, the words rumbling in his chest.

"And I love you," John replied, his hand coming up to rest against the other's that was on his face.


	2. Chapter 2

_Rule two: He who is not jealous cannot love._

A flush of anger went to Sherlock's stomach when he saw some bloody woman near John, obviously flirting a bit because of the fine clothes the man was wearing. She didn't know he was a personal servant to someone, and not a lord of some kind. It was all because of the clothes in the expensive fabric John dressed in, a simple present from Sherlock to spoil him just for being the great man that he was.

And from that flash of heat, he raised his glass and shouted, "Watson!" The man's head turned from the new woman in court to focus on him then focused on Sherlock's raised glass that called for more wine. John hopped to, getting a pitcher and bringing it to him, pouring some into the glass. In a hushed voice, Sherlock asked, "What's her name?"

"Sarah, Sarah Sawyer," John answered, a frown causing his brows to knit together. "Why, if I might respectfully ask, sir?" Playing the role of the dutiful servant, as always.

"No reason. Go to my room and turn down the sheets my bed. I want to rest soon."

John's head bowed as he backed away from his master and swiftly did what the man had ordered him to do. It was minutes later that Sherlock came in. It was their usual fashion for John to aid Sherlock in undressing, and he did just so. When the clothes were off and folded over a chair for another day he pulled a white nightgown over his head then got him tucked into the bed. He did the same for himself. Sherlock and John slept in the same bed and had been for years. It was a habit.

Sherlock was silent for some time on the bed after John had climbed in. The silence broke with him murmuring, "I don't want you seeing her or talking to her again. She's no good and wants to cause trouble." In the darkness the words rang out.

There was no doubt for him talking to Lady Sawyer, Mary was going to scold him. But that was tomorrow since she slept closer to Irene's chambers, which were down a few hallways and away from Sherlock's. From there Mary and John's chambers were a few doors down, but he never slept there. He hadn't since Sherlock had at last invited him to his bed all those years ago and had Irene moved elsewhere.

John turned to Sherlock, placing a hand on his lover's arm. "I won't," he said.

The feeling Sherlock had since laying eyes on that woman destined to cause many affairs was gone in a moment and he soon found himself leaning towards John to sleep against him.


	3. Chapter 3

_Rule three: No one can be bound by a double love._

"I love you," John whispered as he pressed his lips to Mary's hand, smiling softly at her.

Freshly married and climbing into the marriage bed was one of the best things for him. Years had passed and he'd given up hope of getting Sherlock Holmes as a love, the man who he still loved. The man was now seventeen, no longer the child he had been all those years ago when he had fallen for him. And now John was twenty-two, far past the age his parents had wanted him to marry at. They long had passed, leaving him as head of the house. And with that advantage that most didn't have, he married for love, a servant's daughter, Mary Morstan. She was below his class but he didn't care. Love was love to him, and he was happy to have gotten it.

Just as he was getting on top of her, hands sliding up her nightgown to feel the smooth skin there waiting for him to taste and though, there was a knock on their door. John got off of her and went to the door, rearranging his nightgown so anything that would be hidden from the prying eyes of the idiot at the door, it would stay that way. He opened the door and in strode his master. In a second he was bowing, as was Mary after she got out of the bed.

"Sit, sit," Sherlock said, waving his hand to dismiss all the formalities he found boring. "Watson, I hate to pull you away from your wife tonight, but I am in need of your help. Dress yourself and meet me in my chambers." As quickly as he had swept in, he was gone, leaving the newly weds alone and bustling to get clothes out for John again so he could be fresh for his master.

"Tomorrow," he said as they parted, again kissing her hand before leaving the room, closing the door behind him. John's footsteps echoed down the empty halls as he went to his master's chambers. He knocked twice before walking into his room.

Earlier, before he had left it, the place had been clean from the tidying up he had done. But now it was a complete mess; papers were strewn around the room, certain pieces of furniture tipped over. And in the midst of the mess there sat Sherlock. His appearance from only a few moments earlier had changed; instead of airy and nonchalant he seemed angry and cross. John found it an unsettling change. He took a step inside and opened his mouth to say something but got cut off by Sherlock.

"I don't like her. Mary." He practically spat those words out with spite seething in them. "So dull, so boring. You could have done better than her." Sherlock jabbed a finger at John before standing up and beginning to pace, feet crushing his precious work.

"Sir-"

"Oh, do shut up! Mycroft says I am to be married as well. They're bringing a woman for me named Irene Adler. Family up and coming in society, barely a scrap of class in her. Said to be very pretty with raven hair and lush lips, not to mention grey-blue eyes." He scoffed and kicked at a piece of paper, a loud snapping noise emanating through the room. "But I don't want to marry her. I don't even know her and I haven't seen her. She's told to be the prettiest girl in the world, even more so than the Queen. Not that anyone would dare say that for fear of a beheading."

John took another step forward and watched the man that was seeming more and more like a scared child walk around the room as if possessed by an inner demon. "Is there no other choice? No out that you can take?"

"Mycroft says it's final."

A defeated look went on Sherlock's face as he sat back down on the cold stone floor, papers of his passion surrounding him. Again, John stepped close enough so that he could sit in front of the man, pushing the papers away so he wouldn't ruin the things he knew the teen worked hard on. "Well, what is it that you want?"

Sherlock was silent for the longest time, eyes focused elsewhere in the room. John sighed and started fixing up the room while he remained quiet, inspecting the damage done and how it seemed in the room alone.

"I want you. But I can't have you, can I? Married and about to consummate your marriage with that woman who will only hold you back from your potential."

Right in that moment John knew he should have taken offense and jumped to his wife's defense, but at least part of it was true what Sherlock was saying. He looked at him for a few moments before whispering, "But you can have me."

Sherlock had fallen for him to his own accord, no forcing or prodding from John so that he could get what he wanted. It was much more than he had really ever hoped for and John felt his spirits lift. "I'll stay with you tonight," he found himself saying, "We can figure things out."

The man still sitting on the floor only nodded his head, feeling speechless in that single moment of his life, something that only John could do to him.


	4. Chapter 4

_Rule Four: It is well-known that love is always increasing and decreasing._

"You love me, do you? Now I do not believe that," Irene snapped, her eyes flashing as she looked at her husband in an intense glare that he seemed to easily meet. It infuriated her, that passiveness in his eyes, that look of uncaring. He didn't care for her and he knew it, despite how he tried to fool her that he did.

"Of course I love you! Why would you ever think that I don't?"

Fighting between them was growing more common, ending with Sherlock storming out to go somewhere else in the castle. Irene felt as if she was losing him every day to some stranger that couldn't love him as much as she did.

And this fight was the same as any.

Sherlock grabbed a few sheets of composing paper, his violin, an inkwell and a quill, storming out with a grumble of, "I'll be out. Don't bother sending one of your ladies to follow me." The woman listened until his heavy, angry, footsteps were gone. It was then that she knelt on the ground, red dress that he had bought her ballooning out around her as her hands pressed into her eyes.

Whatever love he had found in another woman was turning into something more, something adulterous. She could feel her nerves fluttering at that fact. One of her ladies came in, Kate, a simple servant girl with red hair and wide eyes. "Come, madam," the girl said as she put a hand on the woman to help her stand again. One hand smoothed down the dress against her thigh before taking her to the table in front of the mirror.

"Allow me to do your rouge, madam, you'll look as good as new," Kate murmured, picking up a brush so that she could paint Irene's lips as red as her dress.

Irene absently nodded her head as she realized that she truly was losing him and no matter what he said, she wouldn't believe him.


	5. Chapter 5

_Rule five: That which a lover takes against the will of his beloved has no relish._

The bedroom was warm, the blankets a bit suffocating, and with John there beside him, it was even warmer. Sherlock kicked the covers off of himself with a small smile. His nightgown he had on was far too hot and was tangling around him as he just tried to get cool.

"Open up the window," Sherlock muttered, reaching out a hand to shove the man beside him. "Too hot in here." There was a sigh from beside him as John got up to go over there, running his fingers through his short blonde hair. "Is there nothing you can do about this?"

"I can't control the weather," John grumbled. A rush of warm air came in once the window opened. "This isn't going to do anything, Sherlock."

This was no good. Sherlock sat himself up and started tugging his nightgown off. He tossed it to the side as he lay back on the covers. "I suggest you take yours off as well. It'll keep us cooler." As he rolled over his side he felt John's eyes on him. Not like it could be anyone else watching him, when he thought about it. The bed sunk on the other side as the man got in on the other side. Moments later arms were around his waist and he could feel John's smooth and slightly sweaty skin against his own skin. Sherlock turned his head to look at John with a small smile. It wasn't too much better with the body heat being exchanged but John always could get him to go to sleep while they rested there in the heat of the night. John smiled back at him warmly.

Within moments of looking at each other Sherlock had leaned in and pressed their lips together, breathing in deeply through his nose. John's lips were rough and chapped against his. The man needed to drink more water, that much was for sure. John sharply breathed in sharply through his nose. They didn't kiss like this often because they were, technically, committing a few sins by even laying in bed together with their intentions.

The room was quiet save for a few bugs making their noises outside the window and their lips sliding together, a wet slide coming from them. One of John's hands tangled in the wild curls on top of his head, not pulling or tugging, nothing more than that. To breathe again, Sherlock's mouth opened and soon there was nothing more than a mess of tongues clashing together without a thought. It grew hotter than before and Sherlock's head began spinning, forcing him to pull away to gasp for breath as John's lips moved down his neck to the area that would be hidden by Sherlock's clothes.

He pulled back slightly to look at the flush of blonde hair attached to the man nipping and sucking at his pale skin. Once his tongue he tasted the sweetness of the fruit John must have had for dinner. The table turned when John moved them so Sherlock was on his back and John was on top of him, lips still moving, daring to go lower and lower.

"Stop," Sherlock finally said. He wasn't ready for his innocence to be taken like that. "Want to wait."

His eyes kept on John as the man with flushed cheeks and semi-swollen lips looked at him. "Alright," John murmured, visibly forcing himself to keep himself back. "That sounds good." John moved to lay beside John, biting on his bottom lip. Sherlock turned on his side and pulled the lip from the man's teeth. It didn't mean to get any more chapped than it already was. His nose pressed into John's arm as his eyes slipped shut. Sleep felt even more impossible now, but he curled into John as they just laid there quietly, glad that John hadn't forced him into anything against his will.


End file.
